The Simple Wild (Wild, #1)

by K.A. Tucker

I might be the only person in the history of mankind to eat an entire banana while losing her job.

Lol

“Risk analyst for a bank.” Why am I still humoring this man’s need for conversation? He nods, as if he knows exactly what that means. If you asked me what that meant four years ago when I was collecting my degree from the University of Toronto, I couldn’t have told you. But I was excited all the same when the job offer came through. It was my first step as a young professional female, the bottom rung of a corporate ladder in downtown Toronto. Half-decent pay with benefits and a pension, at a big bank. Plenty of boxes to check in the “good career” department, especially for a twenty-two-year-old woman, fresh out of school and good at math. It wasn’t long before I came to realize that all being a risk analyst entails is throwing numbers into spreadsheet cells and making sure the answers that the formulas spit out are the ones you want. It’s little more than monkey work. Frankly, I’m bored out of my skull most days. “So why’d you quit then?” “I didn’t,” I finally admit through a shaky sigh. “You know, restructuring.” “Oh, yeah. I know it well.” He pauses, studying me intently. “Did you love it, though?” “Does anyone actually love their job?” “You’re too young to be that cynical.” He chuckles. “Did you at least like the people you worked with?”

I peer up at his face—still masked by all the mangy hair and sunglasses and baseball cap, pulled low despite the lack of sun. How long has he been growing that bush for, anyway? Years? There are long, wiry hairs sticking out in every direction. I guarantee it’s never seen a pair of scissors or a comb. Ever. My disgusted expression stares back at me from the reflection of his lenses and my mother’s words about falling in love with a pilot suddenly hit me. I burst out laughing. Is Jonah what she would call a “sky cowboy”? As if I’d ever fall for this guy. The skin between the bottom of Jonah’s aviators and the top of his unkempt beard flushes. “What’s so funny?” he asks warily. “Nothing.” The cool wind picks up in a gust, sending strands of my long hair fluttering around my chin and threatening to lift my hat from my head. I brush away the strays and clear my throat. “Thanks for flying me here,” I say politely, keeping my expression flat. He hesitates. I can feel his heavy gaze on my face and it makes me uncomfortable. “Don’t thank me. It wasn’t my idea,” he says, then flashes a tight, insincere smile, revealing straight, beautiful white teeth. And here, I had assumed he’d written off all basic grooming and hygiene habits.

“There’s Wi-Fi at the house, right?” I wave my phone in the air. “Because I haven’t been able to get a signal since Seattle.” “You must be dying,” Jonah mutters under his breath, but loud enough for me to hear. I roll my eyes. “No, you won’t get a signal. Only GCI works around here. But yes, you’ll be able to connect from home,” Agnes says. “Jonah, take care of things here for me, will ya?”

Five years ago, Simon surprised us at Christmas with a fancy barista machine that can rival Starbucks. I swear he sits at the breakfast bar every morning with his cup of Earl Grey and his Globe and Mail and listens for the first creak of steps from the third floor, just so he can hit Brew. By the time I’m staggering down to the kitchen half-asleep, he’s sliding a hot mug into my hands. To keep the Kraken at bay, he claims, though I’m pretty sure it has more to do with his secret fascination with the frother.

They’re of all ages, some as young as ten or eleven, one an elderly Alaska Native man whose limp is so pronounced, he should be walking with a cane. “He’s going to fall and hurt himself,” I murmur, more to myself, not expecting a response from Jonah, beyond maybe a grunt. “Yupik people are tough. That man probably walks three miles every day.”

I frown. “What people?” “Yupik. Some are Athabascan, or Aleut.” Jonah makes a left turn. “The villages that we fly into are mostly Yupik communities.” “Is that what Agnes is?” “Yup. She grew up in a village up the river. Her mom and brothers are still there, living a subsistence lifestyle.” He adds quickly, perhaps after seeing my frown, “They live off the land.” “Oh! So, sort of like farm-to-table?” Unlike all the other exchanges I’ve had with Jonah, I feel like I’m getting useful information about Western Alaska. “Sure. If you want to compare an entire culture’s way of life to the latest culinary trend . . .” he murmurs dryly.

Maybe that’s why I dare ask, “Have you lived in Alaska your whole life?” There’s a long pause, and I wonder if maybe I misread his civility, if maybe I should have shut up while I was ahead. “I was born in Anchorage. We moved to Vegas when I was twelve. I moved back about ten years ago.” “Vegas. Really . . .” Sharp blue eyes glance over at me quickly. “Why do you say it like that?” “No reason. I’ve never met anyone who actually lived in Vegas.” My only weekend there was a drunken, costly three-day blur with Diana and two other friends for our twenty-first birthdays. By the time I curled up in my seat to fly home, I was more than ready to leave. “Yeah, well, there’s more to it than the Strip. Most locals won’t be caught dead down there.” “Do you miss it?” “Hell, no. Couldn’t wait to get out of there.” “Why?” He sighs, as if he doesn’t have the energy to answer a question like that. “Too fast, too loud, too materialistic—take your pick.”

With his hand still curled around the steering wheel, he points a long index finger—the nail bitten off, cuticle cracking—at a forest-green building. “Right there.”

Everywhere I look, there are oversized SALE signs, but the prices marked can’t possibly be right because ten dollars for a box of Cheerios? Thirteen bucks for a twelve-pack of bottled water? Thirty-two dollars for toilet paper?

Six fifty—American dollars—for a grocery store latte is not normal, I want to say, but I bite my tongue.

“It’s considered good manners to bring something for the hostess. Like wine,” I say calmly, with as little judgment as I can muster in my voice. He levels me with that icy gaze for three long beats. “Aggie doesn’t drink. Your dad will have the occasional beer.” “Great.” Maybe if I show up with a six-pack, he’ll feel obligated to talk to me for more than a minute. “Where can I get—” “You can’t. It’s a dry community. They don’t sell alcohol in Bangor.” “What?” I feel my face twist with shock. “You’re lying.” His eyebrows arch. “You’re arguing with me about this?” “What the hell is this, the 1920s prohibition?” “No. It’s Western Alaska, where alcoholism is a serious problem,” he says, his voice carrying with it a condescending edge. “People will drink so much, they pass out in snowbanks and freeze to death in winter.” “So no one can buy any alcohol, then?” That seems a bit drastic. “Nope. Not even you.” He’s enjoying this way too much. “Well, how does my dad get beer, then?” I counter. “You said he drinks beer.” “He brings it home with him when he goes to Anchorage or Seward. And no . . . I’m not flying there to grab you a damn six-pack.” His perfectly straight, white teeth glint with a wide, spiteful smile. “I guess you’ll have to forgo proper dinner etiquette for tonight.” “That’s fine. I’ll buy her flowers.” I eye the green pail next to the cash register, where three sad-looking bouquets of lemon-yellow daisies sit, the bright dye in the petals unable to hide the browning ...

Well, you enjoy your time in Alaska, Calla. And be careful,” she warns, nodding Jonah’s way, “or that one will charm you so much, you won’t want to leave.” “Yes, I’m already struggling to control myself.” My voice drips with sarcasm. Her head crooks, confusion filling her face. And my mouth drops. “Oh my God, you’re not kidding.” An awkward chuckle sails from her thin lips. “Make sure you send that husband of mine home right after work, Jonah. He gets to talking and next thing he knows, the sun has gone down.” Jonah throws a flat-faced wink her way as he scoops up the grocery bags in one arm, his biceps straining beneath his cotton sleeve. “Will do.” I trail him out, cradling the bouquet of near-spent flowers, feeling countless eyes on my back. I can’t help myself. “So, if you’re charming, what would Bobbie consider an asshole?” “There’s one right now.” I follow his nod and find a reflection of myself in a window. He’s quick with the comebacks, I’ll give him that much.

“People really obsess about the weather around here.” “Why wouldn’t they? Strong winds, thick fog, too much rain or snow . . . any of it will ground us for hours, a day. Even longer, sometimes.” His boots scrape along the dusty ground. “People rely on planes for food, medicine, doctors, mail. Everything.”

And I simply gape at him, astonished. At least twenty-five people said hello to him in Meyer’s. All those little waves and friendly greetings, as if people are actually happy to see him. Bobbie called him charming. Agnes claims he’s a teddy bear. Ethel talks about him like he walks on water. Am I in some sort of alternate universe? One where everyone else sees Jonah in one way and I see the truth? “Have I done something to make you not like me?” I finally blurt out.

“Did you get the pictures I sent? They should have come through by now.” “Let me see . . . Yes! Here they are. Oh my God! Is that what you flew to Bangor in?” “I almost puked.” “But you can’t even fit luggage in there!” “Which is why all my things are on a cargo flight from Anchorage today.” “Why on earth would they come to get you in that?” “Because Jonah is a jackass and he pretty much hates that I’m breathing his precious Alaskan air.” I fill her in on the day’s events, Jonah related, earning numerous gasps and groans. “But you have a dairy allergy! That’s not being high maintenance. That’s a legitimate medical condition,” she snaps. “Right?” I sink into a creaky kitchen chair, feeling vindicated. Finally, someone else is reasonably annoyed with Jonah’s antics. I can always count on my mother for that. “He is the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.” “Why does Wren keep him around?” “Because I’m in the Upside Down, where everyone likes him.” I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see it. “Just avoid him. I don’t want him making your time there harder than it already is.” “I’m trying to, but it feels like every time I round a corner, that bushy face is there. And he lives next door! I can’t get away from him.” “I’m sorry, honey.”

Jonah pauses a beat, seemingly in thought. “Why’d you come to Alaska, Calla?” I frown. “What do you mean? So I could get to know my father before, you know . . . Just in case.” I shouldn’t have to spell it out further. “Maybe you should get to know Wren, just because. And stop looking for reasons to keep hating him.” “I don’t hate him. And I’m not looking for anything. It’s . . . You don’t understand.” He sighs heavily. “It’s none of my business what happened between you two. You’ve gotta sort your own drama out. But I do know what it’s like to decide you want to try to forgive someone, only to realize that you waited too long.” His gaze flickers to the ground before settling back on my face. “Trust me, you don’t want that hanging over your head.”

“Why are you smiling like that?” My dad shakes his head, his smile growing wider. He’s long since finished his dinner and is leaning against a porch post about ten feet away from me, a cigarette burning between his fingers. “Nothing. It’s just, listening to you talk, it reminds me of all those phone calls over the years.” I grin sheepishly. “You mean when I wouldn’t shut up?” He chuckles. “Sometimes you’d be on such a roll that I’d have to put the phone down and walk away if I needed a restroom break. I’d come back a minute later and you’d still be talking away, none the wiser.” “Are you saying you need to use the bathroom now?”

“How do you deal with him every day? He’s . . . insufferable.” That’s Simon’s favorite word. Wait until I tell him I used it in a sentence. “Who, Jonah?” Dad wanders over to the far side of the porch, to peer at the butter-yellow house, out of my view. “I still remember the day he showed up at Wild ten years ago. He was this skinny twenty-one-year-old kid from Vegas, full of piss and vinegar and desperate to fly planes. Damn good at it, too.” That would make Jonah thirty-one, and only five years older than me. “He said he grew up in Anchorage.” “He did. He resented his dad for taking them away. Came back as soon as he had the chance. I doubt he’ll ever leave again.” Just like my dad won’t ever leave, I guess. But why? What hold does Alaska have on them? What makes this place worth giving everything else up? “He may be a pain in the ass sometimes, but he’s the best bush pilot out there. Possibly one of the craziest, too, but we’re all wired that way to some degree. Some more than others.” “He’s definitely embraced the whole crazy bush man look. Don’t know if I agree with you about the best bush pilot part yet.” “The Cub was a bit too small for you.” My dad nods, as if he’s already heard the story. “He flew that tiny plane intentionally, to scare me. I thought I was going to die.” “Not with Jonah flying,” he says with such certainty. “He might take risks that even I don’t have the guts to take, but he’s always smart about it.” Like flying in to save Ethel’s family, I’m guess...

“He traveled a bit while he was there, too. California . . . Arizona . . . Oregon. Can’t remember where else. Oh, New York, for one weekend.” She chuckles. “He hated that city. Said he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. And even after a year of living down there, he felt like a visitor in a foreign country. It was so different. The people were different. The lifestyle was different. Priorities were different. And things moved too fast. He was terribly homesick.”

“Life up here may be simple but it’s not easy, and it’s not for everyone. Water runs out; pipes freeze; engines won’t start; it’s dark for eighteen, nineteen hours a day, for months. Even longer in the far north. Up here it’s about having enough food to eat, and enough heat to stay alive through the winter. It’s about survival, and enjoying the company of the people that surround us. It’s not about whose house is the biggest, or who has the nicest clothes, or the most money. We support each other because we’re all in this together.

“I don’t agree with the choices Wren made where you’re concerned, but I know it was never a matter of him not caring about you. And if you want to blame people for not trying, there’s plenty of it to go around.” Agnes turns to smile at me then. “Or you could focus on the here-and-now, and not on what you can’t change.”

“What is this?” he asks, nodding toward my MacBook. “A computer.” He throws me a flat look. “Why are you looking up charter company websites?” “Because I wanted to know more about my dad’s competition.” “For what? You suddenly interested in taking over the family business?” he mutters. “No,” I scoff through a bite of my banana. “But I noticed that Alaska Wild doesn’t have a website and I think that’s a huge mistake. Everyone has a website nowadays. The sixteen-year-old girl in our neighborhood who walks dogs has a website and an online payment option. It’s the most basic way to market yourself.” Jonah leans back, his legs splayed in that guy way, his arms folded across his chest. He’s made himself comfortable in my chair. “We don’t need to market to the villagers; they all know us. Same with our shipping contracts and the schools.” “Yeah, but what about the tourists? Agnes said you’re losing business with them.” “Yeah, we are,” he admits. “But a website’s not gonna help that.” I settle into the other seat. It teeters under my weight, the metal legs uneven. “If I were coming to Alaska and looking to go sightseeing or fly to another city, I wouldn’t even know about Alaska Wild.” “Of course you would. We’re listed on all the big Alaska tourism pages. And we’re in the directory.” “Yeah, but there’s no information. Nothing about what planes you have, or what your rules and refund policies are, your flying schedule, how much it would cost . . .” “We tell them all that when they ...

“Are you trying to hit every last crack in the pavement?” I snap, glaring at my own reflection in the vanity mirror as I attempt to apply a second coat of mascara to my eyelashes. “You’re in the Alaskan bush. Stop with all that,” he mutters, but slows a touch. Still, the ground is too bumpy for a steady hand. I give up on a second coat, cap my mascara, and throw it into my purse. “Why does everyone keep calling it ‘the bush’ anyway? ‘The bush’ means dense forest where I’m from. There’s no forest here. There’re barely any trees. No bush.” I add quietly, “Besides the one on your face.” “Aren’t we a bit plucky this morning.” He sounds amused. I slide my sunglasses on to block the blinding sun, a welcome change from the drizzle but not when it’s shining directly into my eyes. “If you don’t like it, next time don’t drag me out of my bed and chase me out the door.” I’m never in good spirits when I’m forced to rush in the morning. “I gave you an extra three minutes.” “You’re too kind.” I reach for the travel mug of coffee I managed to fill before Jonah plowed into the kitchen, his watch alarm dinging. “I don’t know how you keep all the women around here from beating down your door.” His soft chuckle sends a warm shiver down my spine. I hate that he has an appealing laugh. “Glad to see that you have a little fire in you, after all.” “I guess you bring out the best in me,” I mutter. I’m not normally like this. It’s as if I’m itching for a fight. He takes the next right turn too qui...

“Why would her family live all the way out here if she’s got medical problems? If I were them, I’d move to Bangor.” He steals a glance my way, the frown on his forehead deep. “Because her family has lived here for hundreds of years. This is their home. This is what they know. This is how they want to live.” He says it so matter-of-factly, as if there’s no other explanation and there’s no need to elaborate. “I don’t get it.” “You don’t have to; you just have to respect it.”

Sure, he’s rough around the edges. He can be too brash and too blunt and too outspoken. In fact, he sorely needs to learn how not to speak his mind just because it suits him. But he can also be playfully witty and thoughtful. And no matter how hard he tries, he hasn’t been able to hide the fact that he cares about these people.

“You looked better yesterday, by the way. Without all that crap on your face.” I feel my cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and anger. “You look the same as yesterday, with all that crap on your face.” He reaches up to drag his fingers through his beard. “What’s wrong with this?” “Nothing, if you’re planning on living alone in the mountains and foraging for food. And not walking quite upright.” “So you’re saying you don’t like it.” There’s no mistaking the amusement in his voice. “Definitely not.” He shrugs. “A lot of women like it.” “No they don’t.” “It’s my style.” “No. Hipster is a style. Rockabilly is a style. Yeti is not a style.” I search the mass of wiry hairs for what might be hidden beneath—a hard jaw, cutting cheekbones—but it’s impossible to find. “I have no idea what you look like under all that.”

Her sigh fills my ear. “I remember those days, hearing some of the stories of things that’d go wrong. I’d do the math on how many times they went up in the air each day, and the odds of something bad happening being that much higher because of it. Especially in those little planes. They’re not like the big jetliners that practically run on computers and have backups of backups. It got to the point where every day, your dad would walk out the door and I’d wonder if that was the last time I’d see him alive.” “That would have been hard to deal with.” “Hard? It drove me nuts. I was never meant to be a bush pilot’s wife.” Simon’s profession is certainly much safer than my dad’s. Aside from that one patient who launched a silver-plated Sigmund Freud head statue at him—missing him completely but putting a hole through the wall—Simon’s biggest occupational hazards have been paper cuts and chair ass.

I think she’s getting as set in her ways as I am. So . . . we all just keep living like we do.” “I think it’s nice, the way things work around here. The way you all look out for each other. I mean, Mabel brings you dinner . . . you leave a pot of coffee out for Jonah every morning . . . It’s nice. It’s like family.” “Yeah, well . . .” He scratches the gray stubble coating his chin. “They are my family.” “I’m glad to know you have people here who care about you.” Who will take care of you after I’m gone. “And that I got to know them.”

“I called Mom.” He nods slowly, as if he knew I would. He doesn’t ask what she said, though, or how she took it. He probably can already guess. “And I canceled my flight.” He sighs and starts shaking his head. “You didn’t have to do that, Calla. I’d rather you go back home with only good memories. Not with what’s coming.” “Well, I’d rather you go to Anchorage and try to slow this down, but neither of us is going to get what we want, are we?” I step closer, to take a seat on the bed. “Are you scared?” He looks down at his hands. “Scared. Angry. Sad. Full of regret. A little bit of everything, I guess.” I hesitate, but then reach over to place a tentative hand on top of his, absorbing its warmth. What do you know? My mom was right. We do have the same knuckles, the same finger lengths, and, beneath my gel tips, the same short nail beds.

Agnes and Mabel walked into my dad’s kitchen around three, while he was napping, Mabel’s arms hugging her latest plucked catch from the farm, Agnes’s laden with potatoes and carrots, and lettuce for a green salad. We hadn’t made plans for dinner, but I was thankful to see them show up all the same. By the time my dad staggered out of his bedroom, the house was smelling of roasted meat and we’d settled into solitary tasks—Agnes with a book, Mabel with a game on her phone, and me with my computer—as if we all lived here. He didn’t say anything, didn’t question it. Just smiled at us and sank into his La-Z-Boy.

bannock. That’s a flat bread. You might like that.” I trail closely behind Jonah as he identifies the various trays of food along the tables, courtesy of the eighty-odd people milling around Wild’s lobby, most from Bangor, but plenty who took the river down from the villages. The place is alive with a buzz of laughter and friendly conversation. Agnes was right, after all. A party is what we all needed. Jonah points to a dish of glistening yellow cubes, a thick, dark skin lining one side. “You won’t like that.” “What’s that?” I point to a bowl of what appears to be white cream and blueberries. “That’s called Eskimo ice cream.” “Dairy?” “Nope. And you definitely won’t like it.”

whole honey bucket

“But what we will no doubt miss are the people. How caring you are. How close you all are, how hard you work to keep your way of life. No matter where we go, we’ll never find the same thing. I’m sure of it.”

I’ve spent the last twelve years dwelling on all the things Wren Fletcher isn’t. I should have had the guts to come and find out all the things he is. Loaded silence lingers in the plane. Jonah sighs. “You should have called him. He should have called you. Your mom should never have left. Wren should have left Alaska for you. Who the hell knows what’s right, and what it would have led to, but it doesn’t matter because you can’t change any of that.” His thumb draws a soothing circle over my spine, just below my neck. “My dad and I didn’t have a great relationship; I think you’ve probably figured that out. It always seemed to be a power struggle with him. He didn’t take too well to not having control over my life. Said a lot of shitty things and never once followed them up with an apology. “Cutting him off and moving up here was the right thing to do; I knew that in my gut. Still, in those last few days, watching him go, listening to him tell me how much he regretted trying to force what he wanted on me, I kept playin’ conversations in my head, over and over again, finding things I should have said or done, times I should have reached out. You can spend an entire lifetime doing that and still get nowhere.”

Dad passed away five nights ago, surrounded by his loved ones, just like all those newspaper obituaries read. He died as he lived. Quietly, with a resigned sigh and a smile of acceptance.

I smooth my trembling hand over his jaw, still trying to process the sudden turn of events. This is the second time my life has been turned upside down on this front porch. Only this time, I think I already know what my answer will be. Because I’d do anything to try and make it work with him. Holy shit. “Like it?” he murmurs, covering my idle hand with his. “Yes, but you need to grow the beard back.” His lips stretch into a wide grin “Well, what do you know?” “Not the yeti beard. The hot Viking one.” He makes a sound.